


Good Enough

by firechant



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Chosen Undead of Ambiguous Gender, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Spoilers for Solaire of Astora's questline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 14:19:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4669805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firechant/pseuds/firechant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the longest time, Solaire thought he would find his sun in Anor Londo.  When that failed, his search became more and more desperate until, in the depths of Lost Izalith, he finally found something good enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Enough

**Author's Note:**

> There aren't any direct mentions of suicide in this, but if you are bothered by the sort of thoughts that can lead to such things, you may want to skip this one.

Solaire awoke at the bonfire with a fierce headache. Another summoning gone wrong. Stifling a moan, he pulled himself up into a sitting position and tried to lose himself in the warmth of the bonfire. Gingerly, he opened his eyes, then immediately clamped them shut again when the fierce red glow of the nearby lava assailed his sight.  A few months ago, he might have found the brightness comforting, a reminder of the sun he held so dear.  Now, though, it felt like a dreadful mockery.  How could Chaos produce something so bright, so close to heavenly sunlight, and yet painful to look upon or touch?

It was his own fault, really.  He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up for Anor Londo.  Anor Londo was a well-known legend in Astora, and it was the tales of Lord Gwyn and his knights that had inspired him to come to Lordran in the first place. He had dedicated himself to following the Lord of Sunlight, and so he assumed that when he arrived at the home of the gods, he would find his sun, and be made whole.

But, after years in Lordran, when he finally entered Anor Londo, the place felt... wrong.  Everything had felt strangely hostile to him, even the Fire Keeper. She refused to say a word to him and only reluctantly allowed him to rest at the bonfire at all. And when he looked up into the heavens to gaze at the sun, it felt… empty.  Cold.  He had never been happier to enter a building and leave the touch of the sun outdoors.

It was in Anor Londo that his skills began to fail him. That Undead, the one who had seemed to take a liking to him, had summoned him to help clean out the cathedral. Upon entering the chancel, they were greeted by a pair of skilled combatants.  _Dragon Slayer Ornstein and Executioner Smough_ , he had thought.  How had he recognized them so easily?  They must have been in a myth he had read as a child and forgotten, he supposed.

The fight was brutally long, a bitter flurry of tiny nicks and scratches in the match between himself and Ornstein that seemed somehow personal. Meanwhile, the other Undead had danced unendingly around Smough and his giant hammer, minutes passing between every successful strike to the giant.

When the dance between the Undead and Smough finally ended, nearly half an hour later, of course it wasn’t over. Ornstein laid a hand on his fallen companion and absorbed the souls that Solaire thought should rightfully go to the Undead.  The Undead was clearly unprepared for the transformation that took place as Ornstein absorbed the Executioner’s power.  Ornstein’s spear pulled back in preparation for a thrust that the Undead was too tired to block – Solaire dashed forward and shoved the Undead out of the way, just in time to take the blow himself – and then his chest exploded in agony and he was lifted into the air, impaled by the spear – he caught a glimpse of Ornstein’s helm as he slid excruciatingly further down, and he could swear the man was looking at him with pity, or perhaps disdain – his last memories were of white-hot lightning setting his entire body aflame, right down to the bone – and then he awoke again at the bonfire, phantom tingles running up and down his limbs.

He remembered having the thought that it was oddly fitting that he should die by being struck down by a god’s lightning, though he couldn’t for the life of him think why.

He retraced his steps to the chancel. The Undead must have been victorious, for the Dragon Slayer and Executioner were gone from the dark room, but he felt chills as he ventured further into the cathedral.  Something was very wrong.

He didn’t figure it out until he went upstairs and ventured through the doors past the bonfire.  The room was lavishly furnished, but empty and nearly pitch dark, despite the large windows on the opposite wall.  Disbelieving, Solaire crossed the room and looked out onto Anor Londo. The sun was gone, and the home of the Lord of Sunlight had somehow turned dark.

His first thought had been, _What did the Undead do?_   His second thought had been of despair.  For so long, he had thought to find his sun in Anor Londo. But now that he was here, he had been cast down by a god, and awoke to find Anor Londo plunged into darkness.

He told himself it didn’t matter, that just because the answer wasn’t here, it didn’t mean he had to give up. He had an entire organization of adherents to the Lord of Sunlight, not to mention the Chosen Undead, to fill the hours with. It would be foolish for him to lose hope now, no matter how major the setback.

He had fled Anor Londo with his eyes squeezed shut, unwilling to look at the dark sky above him.

After that, he had thrown himself into his summoned fights.  If his journey was fated to be impossible, then he would at least help others achieve their goals. But try as he might, he simply couldn’t win anymore.  He was slower on his feet, and his strikes no longer felt like they carried the force of the sun behind them.

He went back to wandering Lordran, doing his best to help those who needed it. But his heart was gone from it. Anor Londo had been his goal for so long. Now that he knew that his sun was not there, he couldn't help but feel that he would never be complete, and every time he helped another Undead find their way, he further despaired of ever finding his own.

In one passage through the Firelink Shrine, he met a man with a flame in his hand.  He said his name was Laurentius of the Great Swamp, and that he was about to travel to Blighttown in search of a master of pyromancy.  The man nodded knowingly at the sun emblem on Solaire’s shield, and asked if Solaire would be willing to help him.  Solaire tried not to think about the idea of a flame you could carry with you wherever you walked, lest he succumb to bitterness and jealousy. Nevertheless, he agreed to accompany the man.

As they traveled down the precarious platforms, they conversed.

 _So, you’re looking for your ‘sun,’ hm?_ Laurentius had asked.  _How will you know when you’ve found it?_

 _To be perfectly honest, I’m not really sure anymore,_ Solaire had answered sadly. _Everything I have sought that I thought would satisfy me has turned to ashes in my hands…_

Laurentius had looked at him seriously. _Have you considered trying pyromancy?  My teacher always said that it is the ultimate fantasy, for those who have the fascination with fire._

Solaire had refused him then, saying that the sun really had more to do with lightning than with fire.  That was a month ago now, and he was beginning to regret his answer.  He had left Laurentius in the great cavern that was the floor of Blighttown, and had chosen to rest near the Bell of Awakening that the Chosen Undead had rung all that time ago.

Laurentius’ words had gotten to him, though. As he sat beneath the bell and scoured the Blighttown muck off of his armor, he thought that perhaps he had been chasing the wrong element all along.  Perhaps his sun was meant to be the red heat of a pyromancy flame, not the white heat of a lightning spear.  He gazed out at the Demon Ruins, past which he knew lay the path to Lost Izalith.

Out of sheer force of habit, he left his summon sign near the large cavern that led to Lost Izalith before moving on to rest at the bonfire.  He hadn’t been of much help to anyone recently, but that was no reason not to keep trying, he told himself.

He was surprised when he felt himself being summoned. _Who else would be in this gods-forsaken pit?_ His surprise grew when he materialized and found himself looking into the hooded face of the Chosen Undead.  What a strange person, this one was.

The blistering heat had Solaire squirming uncomfortably as they entered the cavern.  What a joke of a pyromancer he would be, given his dislike of heat. He squinted over the brightness of the lava to see what sort of beast the Undead wanted his assistance to defeat. It was a demon whose limbs appeared to be giant centipedes.  The Undead with him sprinted off to the right, diving and jumping across short rivers of lava to avoid unnecessary burns.  Solaire followed.

The demon stayed where it was, far across the cavern. The Undead nodded at Solaire and gestured to the demon.  Solaire already knew what the Undead had planned, and held his arm up, gathering his unshakeable faith in the sun to form a spear of lightning.

 _But you can’t find your sun, can you?_ a deep voice murmured in his ear as he threw the spear.  Doubt flashed through him, and just like that, the lightning vanished far short of its mark, only inches away from his fingertips.

Heat rose to Solaire’s cheeks as he readied another spear. _I haven’t made such a foolish blunder since before I became Undead,_ he thought.  And of course it had to be in front of the frighteningly indomitable Chosen Undead. He readied another bolt.

 _And you’ve fallen so low to consider Pyromancy as an alternative.  Have you no shame?_ the low voice demanded, and once again the lightning failed to travel more than a few inches from his hand. He could not call upon the power of the sun. His faith was gone.

Solaire fell to his knees, unable or unwilling to comprehend what was happening to him.  The Undead had already given him up as a lost cause, and had begun taking potshots at the centipede demon with a small bow.

When the centipede demon finally approached them in its fury, Solaire didn’t even try to dodge the limb that shot out toward him, killing him instantly.

And now, here he was, sitting dejectedly at the bonfire near the entrance to Lost Izalith, waiting for the Chosen Undead to no doubt defeat the demon alone and find him here.

He pulled a sunlight medal from his pocket and looked at it sadly.  The medals were his crowning achievement in Lordran – he had turned the Warriors of Sunlight from a ragtag band of cultists into the mighty force for hope and strength that they were now.  “And a lot of good that does me,” Solaire snarled, voice slowly rising in volume, “when I cannot even find my own sun!”  He roared in wordless rage and threw the medal into the lava, then watched it melt into the orange lake.

His energy gone, he put his head in his hands. “…Why?” he asked sadly. “…Why?” he pleaded, louder this time. “After all this searching, I still cannot find it…”  His voice broke slightly on the last two words.  A pair of feet entered his field of vision, and he looked up to once again see the Chosen Undead. The centipede demon was vanquished, then, and without his help.

Solaire looked away, unable to meet the Undead’s eyes. He bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to cry in front of the only one who might still respect him. _Well, not anymore, Solaire, not after the performance you just gave._ Solaire clapped his hands to the sides of his helmet in a futile attempt to cover his ears and shut out the voice of doubt.

When Solaire dared to look up, the Undead was gone, perhaps sensing his desire to be left alone.  Tears started flowing in earnest then, and while he was happy the Undead was not there to witness his shame, he still couldn’t help but feel abandoned by the one person he had left.

Solaire couldn’t say whether it was hours or days later that he stood up and prepared to venture into Lost Izalith. There was no direction to go but forward, across the lava.  The Chosen Undead could no doubt walk across lava like it was water, but Solaire had no such ability; he would have to rely only on himself.  As Solaire sprinted across the fiery plain, he thought that he could feel the heat peeling him apart.  He couldn’t tell if it was killing him or cleansing him, and he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

An eternity later, it was over. Solaire collapsed the moment he made it back onto solid stone, shaking and choking and trying to force the phantom heat to disappear.  Minutes passed before he could grasp his Estus flask in trembling fingers and force several swallows of the liquid down.

Breathing was easier, after that, though his legs refused to stop shaking. Once he had recovered enough, he set out onward again.  He held at a ready stance, at least as well as he could with shaking legs, until he noticed the bodies of small demons all around him. Clearly, the Chosen Undead had already passed this way and cleared the path for him.

After dragging his exhausted body up several flights of stairs, he came to a split path.  To his left, there were combat sounds of wood and flame. If Solaire imagined hard enough, he could envision the Chosen Undead persistently fighting whatever menace was down that ramp.  To his right, he saw a prowling demon guarding a bridge.

Clearly, he was no longer fated to be able to help the Chosen Undead.  With only a brief hesitation, he turned right and challenged the demon. He rushed in, trying to close distance. The demon shot a bolt of lightning at him, and Solaire had the briefest desire to lower his shield and let his body be struck by that holy lightning, if only to feel its power once again. He came to his senses just before the bolt struck, and the attack sputtered away on his shield.

No tricks this time, no miracles, just him and his sword and shield against the demon.  He knew he didn’t have the strength for a prolonged battle, so he attacked viciously and without pause.  He was making good progress, hacking away small chunks of the demon’s torso, when his leg buckled beneath him and the demon’s catch pole slammed into the side of his head.

By all rights, the blow should have knocked him unconscious.  There was nothing left to do but pin all his hopes on one last strike.  He pulled back his sword, just as the demon readied another lightning bolt.  They struck simultaneously, Solaire’s sword cutting straight through its chest while lightning seethed through his own body.  Solaire screamed then, the lightning too much for him to bear – and then it was over, and the demon was vaporizing into a thousand tiny souls.

Solaire gingerly touched his head wound, and his hand came back surprisingly dry.  He supposed the lightning had done something to burn the wound and prevent it from bleeding.   Solaire drank the last of his Estus – not nearly enough to return him to full strength – and stood up again.  If the Chosen Undead could keep going after anything, then damn it, he could too.

The bridge entered into a dark tunnel. Solaire hobbled into the tunnel, wishing he had a light.  _A sun, my own sun, how I wish I had my sun!_ The thought became a litany as he stumbled further into the darkness, leaving the vivid red light of Lost Izalith behind him.

But what was that?  A feeble white light flashed briefly on the ground, and then was gone. Just as Solaire decided he must have been imagining it, there was another, more persistent light.

The light was hovering over a large insect about the size of his helmet.  Solaire counted seven long limbs and many more smaller ones, all wriggling back and forth. It swiveled its body around to face him, and glowing red eyes fixed on Solaire’s as the bug considered him.

The bug lifted up its two smaller forelimbs and used them to push the light it generated left, and then right, and then left again, watching Solaire the whole time.  Solaire’s eyes remained fixed on that point of glowing light. The light was weak, but brighter than any other he had found recently.

“How?” he asked.  When the creature didn’t answer, he sat down, pulled off his helmet, and reached out a hand toward the bug.  “How do you do that, little one?  You’ve found your sun. I don’t suppose you could help me find mine?”

The creature tilted slightly, as if pondering his question, and then crept forward and nuzzled into Solaire’s hand.

The light was partially smothered by Solaire’s hand as he awkwardly pet the thing, and Solaire almost wept at the thought of it. He had thought he deserved all the light in Anor Londo, when the only sun he was worthy of was here, in a lightless tunnel of Lost Izalith, carried by an insect born not of Sunlight, but of Chaos.

Solaire gently lifted the creature up to his face, trying to get a better look at the tiny ball of light hovering between its forelimbs. It wasn’t as bright as he had hoped, but it was good enough.

He sobbed, not sure if it was in relief or in anguish.  An entire sun? That was a foolish goal. The most he could hope to have was this tiny spark.  He could live with that. It was good enough. As he stared into the speck of light, he barely even noticed the creature squeal and dart forward toward his head.

This tiny light would have to be good enough.

**Author's Note:**

> My personal blog is at mysticelevator.tumblr.com. If you're on the xbox network for Dark Souls or the PC for Dark Souls 2, come and chat if you want to co-op or pvp.
> 
> As always, both praise and criticism are welcome.


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